


The Official Way World War Threesome Comes Together

by kj_graham



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, bucky is clueless, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_graham/pseuds/kj_graham
Summary: Steve kisses her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. For a split second, before the pain sinks in, Bucky’s jealous that he’s not the one that gets kissed like that, like it’s no big deal and easy as pie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I wrote in high school, when my friends and I came up with this elaborate high school au. I'm not 100% pleased with it, but I think y'all can still enjoy it if you choose to.
> 
> Also you can find me as kj_graham on Twitter and kj-graham18 on Tumblr!

It’s the freak in him. That’s what it is. That’s why people don’t want Bucky, he decides. It’s the prosthetic. It’s the fact that he has trouble remembering things correctly or even at all. He’s probably annoying, comes across as dependent when he asks for help. He has a tendency to try to make himself look small, walks with his shoulders all hunched, head down.  
The freak in him isn’t surprised when Steve and Peggy kiss in the hallway after lunch. They’re all walking along, and Bucky’s just behind the two of them, and as usual, they reach Peggy’s classroom first.  
Steve kisses her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. For a split second, before the pain sinks in, Bucky’s jealous that he’s not the one that gets kissed like that, like it’s no big deal and easy as pie. Then they keep kissing, and Bucky pulls his eyes away before other people can think to call him creepy for staring.  
His flesh hand shakes. There’s a phantom throbbing in the hand he no longer has. It’s the freak in him that springs tears to his eyes, but the pain thrumming through him like a shock from a live wire is all Bucky, all James Buchanan Barnes, all the parts of him that have been in him all his life.  
The pain is so potent it splashes up from his heart to hit the back of his throat, bitter and hot and suffocating. His stomach is frothing with the pain of it, too, as if this is something physical, something that can be fixed with an ice pack.  
It’s all he can do to turn away and stumble into one of the bathrooms. He throws up into the sink, then rests all his weight on his real arm and avoids looking in the mirror as he attempts to pull himself together.  
Bucky imagines he can feel the skin under his prosthetic swelling. It’s suddenly itchy and uncomfortable and a monumental weight, and he’s halfway to pulling it off when the bathroom door swings open. Someone steps in, whistling, keys or something else made of metal clinking together, and Bucky keeps his eyes shut, breathing through his mouth, as he hears the footsteps falter and stop.  
There’s a pause, drawn-out and awkward, before the guy speaks. “Dude, you’re not looking so hot. You okay?”  
“I’m fine,” Bucky insists, tone biting. He looks up and meets Scott’s eyes through the mirror, ignoring how pale his own face is. Scott looks unsure, but drops his gaze for a moment, looking at the copper trinket he’s fiddling with. Bucky would be more interested if he wasn’t so hurt.  
Of course Scott fucking Lang was the one to walk in on him. Bucky knows that Scott floats around all the circles in their giant friend group, but they aren’t close. Bucky is really more familiar with his reputation than anything, with the fact that Scott doesn’t come from a fancy background, doesn’t have a lot, wears all secondhand clothes and owns a beat-up car. He knows Scott has a habit of giving another kid his lunch if they don’t have one.  
So, best-case scenario, Scott’s concerned for him but leaves him alone. Bucky chokes back a fresh wave of tears—all he can see is Steve, _kissing Peggy_—and wishes that instead, someone indifferent had walked in, ignored Bucky at the sinks, and done what they needed to do.  
The thought that Scott might be concerned for him—the look in Scott’s eyes that _screams_ that he’s concerned for him—makes Bucky think that he must really look pathetic, poor messed-up Bucky with his memory problems and his amputated arm, poor Bucky the freak of our graduating class. It makes him heave, and he throws up into the sink again.  
Scott pretty much shouts in surprise. He slips the copper trinket into his pocket and takes hesitating step after hesitating step until he’s just behind Bucky, who’s still coughing and pretending he isn’t crying.  
“Hey,” Scott says, and Bucky appreciates that his voice is quiet. “Why don’t I take you to the nurse?”  
Bucky stutters out that it’s okay, he’s _fine_, he has class to get to anyway, but Scott just shakes his head a little.  
“We’re already both late,” he says. “And you clearly don’t feel well. Let me walk you to the nurse.”  
Bucky wants to explain that this isn’t a stomach bug or the flu. This is the freak just under his skin, the one masquerading as him, realizing how very undesirable it really is, and when the freak in him figures out it’s revolting, it makes Bucky revolt too. He wants to explain, but he isn’t sure he can wrap his mouth around the words correctly, and Scott is nice, but everyone has a limit, so Bucky just nods and adjusts his backpack.  
Scott nods too, easy, like he’s used to dealing with puking, spooked classmates every day, and pulls some paper towels out of the dispenser. He hands them to Bucky and waits patiently while he wipes puke off of his face.  
He goes so far as to hold the door open as they walk out of the bathroom.  
Bucky never heard the second bell ring, but there’s no one in the hallways outside of a hall monitor, and he’s sure he looks enough like shit that it’s no question they’re headed to the nurse.  
Scott’s looking at his phone, an old iPhone with a shattered screen, as they walk down the hallway. Bucky digs his fingers into the junction between scarred, red skin and latex. He wants to cradle the arm to his chest—it feels so _heavy_—but he doesn’t think he can handle any more worried looks from Scott.  
And now they’re passing the door of Peggy’s classroom, and there’s the spot where Steve stood, the spot they kissed, and Bucky swallows back fresh bile. His heart is pounding. He feels faint with how strong self-loathing and self-pity washes over him.  
“I know you wanna go to class,” Scott says as they turn the corner. “But I’ve had anxiety attacks like that. Believe me, Bucky, you’ll feel a lot better if you go home.”  
Scott isn’t even looking up from his phone, but Bucky finds himself staring, open-mouthed, because it wasn’t an anxiety attack. Bucky doesn’t have anxiety attacks like that, not over things like this. And if that _was_ an anxiety attack, it’s probably the mildest one he’s ever had. And since when does everyone’s-helper Scott Lang get anxiety attacks?  
“Yeah,” Bucky manages, but his voice is choked and doesn’t really sound like his own.  
Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the walk.  
Scott pulls open the door to the nurse’s office when they get there, holds it open for Bucky. The nurse, a woman with very thick glasses and too many turtleneck sweaters, looks disinterested when they walk in.  
“Can I help you?” She says, and her voice is grating and sarcastic and it makes Bucky want to turn around and walk right out, because he’s definitely not in the headspace to deal with this right now, but the tiny voice in his head he tries not to listen to spits ‘freak’ so he plants his feet.  
“Yeah,” Scott says, and his tone borders on disrespectful. “My friend is sick.”  
The nurse looks over her glasses. She snaps her gum and gives Bucky a once-over, then drags her eyes back to Scott.  
“What kinda sick?”  
“I found him throwing up in the bathroom,” Scott says. “It’s probably a stomach bug.”  
His voice is so confident Bucky almost believes him before he catches himself. He likes Scott just that much more for not outing the entirety of the situation.  
“Alright,” the nurse says, still sounding disinterested. “You, tell me your name and then lay down on a cot. Mr. Lang, back to class.”  
Scott nods, but before he goes, he slaps a sticky note into Bucky’s palm.  
“James Barnes,” Bucky says once Scott’s left. He sits on the cot closest to the door while the nurse calls his mom and looks at the note on his palm.  
‘You need anything, you call/text this number.’  
Scott’s handwriting is slanted and messy, the kind of chaotic Bucky has come to associate with Tony Stark and Peter Parker and all the fast-paced brainiacs that he knows of.  
Bucky has nothing better to do, and he does appreciate this, so he adds the number to his contacts and texts Scott a quick thank you.  
Scott answers immediately, saying you’re welcome and no problem and please get some rest and I’m serious, you text me if you need anything and then sends quite a few dumb smiley face emojis to top it all off.  
It’s the best text Bucky has gotten today; it makes him smile, and he counts it as a win.  
He insists that he’s fine when his mom picks him up; he can’t imagine explaining the whole thing, that not only is he actually bi but he likes both a guy and a girl simultaneously right now and they like each other and he saw them kiss and it was too much.  
It’s not that he thinks his parents would care—actually, he knows they really wouldn’t—it’s that he doesn’t have the energy left to get through the entire conversation that’ll come away from it. Not right now.  
Right now, he just lets his mom bundle him up on the couch and feed him chicken soup and put on Emperor’s New Groove. He texts Scott a few times, but doesn’t let himself read the texts popping up from Steve and Peggy, no doubt wondering where he is.  
The freak in him writhes uncomfortably. He spends the whole night itching at his prosthetic.

* * *

  
School is...harder. When Bucky comes back the next day, Steve and Peggy make the announcement that they’re officially “a thing” and they’re so beyond happy that Bucky just fakes a smile and congratulates them through quivering lips.  
He texts Scott. Not about what’s going on, exactly, but he gives enough context that he’s feeling bad so that Scott has an idea of what to say to make it better.  
Scott says just the right thing. The yawning hole in Bucky’s chest gets a little less raw-edged, but only because Scott’s saying these things. Bucky knows himself well enough. He knows he likes Steve. He knows he likes Peggy. He knows he appreciates Scott but doesn’t like him that way.  
The freak in him enjoys that, because there’s no way anyone could like him back, anyway.  
Sam walks him to class after lunch. Bucky resolutely does not look at Steve or Peggy or anyone vaguely Steve-or-Peggy-shaped.  
“Hey,” Sam says while they walk. “Wanna come over Saturday?”  
Bucky thinks maybe Sam Wilson is nothing less than a godsend.  
“Sure,” Bucky says. “You don’t have practice?”  
Sam shakes his head. “Nope. So you and me are getting together and eating our weight in chicken wings.”  
Bucky laughs. It’s hollow, and he feels sort of numb, but it’s funny so he laughs.  
Bucky reaches his classroom. He almost texts Scott, but the first notification he sees is a text from Steve asking why he didn’t walk with them to class.  
The mood’s ruined. Bucky doesn’t look at his phone for the rest of the day.  
Saturday rolls around pretty quickly after that. His schooldays are filled with avoiding Steve and Peggy in the halls, which only gets more and more painful as the week goes on. When he sees them in the hallway, and they spot him, they immediately look all worried and rush toward him.  
Twice he’s had to lie through his teeth and go completely the wrong way in the hallways to get away from them, and each time he thought his teeth might rot and fall out right then and there.  
The look on Steve’s face—like a kicked puppy—hurts, badly, because Steve can always tell when he’s lying. Peggy looks disappointed, because he’s fumbling badly enough it’s probably clear to her, too, that he’s not being honest.  
Going home on Friday is so freeing Bucky almost doesn’t think he can stand it. The promise of two whole days where he doesn’t have to worry about avoiding Steve and Peggy is a relief.  
On Saturday, Bucky heads over to Sam’s and they start the day with some PlayStation.  
When Bucky dies for a third time, Sam pauses the game and puts down his controller.  
“What’s up with you?”  
“Huh?” Bucky says. “Nothing.”  
Sam snorts. “Bull. You’re all quiet. Something’s been super off this week.”  
Bucky sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
Sam just kind of looks at him. Bucky decides he’s had enough of people giving him concerned looks.  
“Okay,” Sam says after a long moment. “But you know I’m here for you, right?”  
Bucky nods. Sam picks his controller up and unpauses the game.  
As promised on Tuesday, they eat their weight in spicy wings and blue cheese dressing.  
Sam doesn’t push Bucky, but after dinner, when they’re fucking around outside with a football, there’s this thought in his head like a blaring warning siren, this thought that if he tells Sam, Sam will help him.  
“Hey,” Bucky says. He catches the ball and then drops it. His athletic skill is more in his legs than his upper body.  
“Yeah,” Sam says. “What’s up?”  
“Can we—can we talk for a minute?”  
“Sure,” Sam says. He tosses the football into the corner of the yard and his dog runs for it.  
Bucky sits on the grass. His hands are trembling. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest.  
Sam sits next to him, leaning back on his hands. Bucky picks at the grass.  
“You noticed it, right? The thing with Steve and Peggy and me.”  
“Yeah,” Sam says. “I didn’t want to ask about it. Figured you guys got into a fight or something.”  
Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s something else.”  
There’s a long pause.  
“I’m not straight,” Bucky says, quietly. He doesn’t look Sam in the eyes.  
“Okay,” Sam says, drawn-out. “That doesn’t change anything, man. Is that what this is about? Because I’ll kick Steve’s ass so hard he tastes the American flag, and Peggy’ll—“  
“Sam,” Bucky says. “It’s not them. I mean. Okay. It is them, but not them as in they don’t accept me.”  
Sam opens his mouth. Closes it again. Opens it, closes it.  
“They kissed in front of me,” Bucky says. He still can’t meet Sam’s eyes.  
“Oh,” Sam says. “Oh! You—you like them, then, right?”  
Bucky nods, and damn it all, begins to cry.  
“So much,” he sputters. “I like them so much, Sam, and they don’t—God, it hurts and they’re happy and I should be happy for them but it just hurts and I can’t-“  
Sam looks alarmed. Bucky’s sobbing so hard his throat is spasming painfully. He can’t catch his breath.  
He was crying when Scott found him on Monday, sure, but not like this. This is full-bodied, full-mind breakdown.  
“Uh,” Sam says. “Oh, Bucky, it’s okay.”  
He scoots closer and Bucky feels his palm rest on his back lightly, like Sam’s not putting his full weight into it.  
Sam Wilson is many things, but he’s not overly physically affectionate with his friends. Bucky doesn’t mind that, usually, but today it’s a barrier he can’t bear. He leans into Sam, who stutters and blushes his way through wrapping Bucky up in a bear hug.  
Bucky wishes he could say he didn’t just keep sobbing onto Sam’s shoulder. He does, though, and Sam just hugs him.  
“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Sam says. Bucky chokes back more tears. “You know it’s not because of you that it seems like they don’t like you.”  
Bucky shrugs. “Who wants me, Sam?” He says. He pulls away from the hug and gestures at himself, pulling stray bits of spit-soaked hair out of his mouth.  
Sam gives him a sad smile. “Lots of people. My dad used to say ‘there’s an ass for every toilet seat.’”  
Bucky snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Wow, that fixes everything. Thanks, guess I’ll just go find that toilet seat now.”  
Sam laughs. “At least you figured out which half you are without me having to tell you.”  
Bucky laughs a little, and Sam reaches over to clap him on the shoulder.  
“Seriously,” he says. “I know you’re upset, and this sucks, but you’re gonna find that someone or those someones, Bucky. I know it. Even if those people aren’t Steve and Peggy. And just so you know? I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that they like you too.”  
Bucky thinks that maybe Sam Wilson is his personal hero. He thinks it even more when they go inside and Sam lines up all his favorite movies on Netflix, tells Bucky he’s sleeping over, no question, and they stay up until two in the morning talking about everything under the sun.  
Sam’s like Scott, Bucky thinks. Or, more accurately, Scott’s like Sam, since Bucky knew Sam first. But they both know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

* * *

  
Bucky sits at Scott’s lunch table on Monday, because Sam doesn’t have that lunch wave but Steve and Peggy do.  
Scott sits with Clint and Bruce Banner and Thor during lunch, which feels odd because Bucky knows they’re all really from different small friend groups.  
Bucky feels a little out of place, but he ends up having fun. Thor does his best impression of an Australian accent, which turns out pretty good, but then tries a British accent and fails miserably. Bruce makes a lot of deadpan comments that are funnier to Bucky than they probably should be. Clint cracks jokes and forces Bucky to eat his granola bar. Scott sits next to Bucky and keeps an eye on him, keeps asking Bucky if he needs anything.  
Bucky says he’s fine every time Scott asks, but doesn’t decline when Scott offers him part of a KitKat. Bucky may be stubborn to the point of recklessness, but he isn’t stupid. Someone offers you chocolate, you take the damn chocolate.  
It’s almost okay. It feels weird not to be with Steve and Peggy after two and a half years of being glued together at the hip. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss them. He misses them to the point he wants to launch himself at them and explain everything away until they shush him and everything is okay again.  
But he can’t. He can’t give himself up like that. He doesn’t have the trust that it’ll all work out. He just, he just can’t look at himself as someone who could be loved by not only one person, but two people such as Steve and Peggy.  
For now, he just eats lunch and laughs at Thor trying and failing to do an Irish accent. And if he accidentally makes eye contact with Steve? Well, he just pretends it didn’t happen. Fake it til you make it.

* * *

  
He’s lying on his bed, sprawled out on his stomach and doing chem homework, when his phone rings on Monday night.  
Bucky’s mom is out of town for the night. Both Scott and Sam said they might call him. It’s a no-brainer to answer it. He doesn’t even look at who’s calling. Bucky doesn’t even really have a preference for who it is out of the three.  
“Hey,” he says. He taps his pencil against his notebook.  
“Hey.”  
Okay. O-kay. That…That’s not Bucky’s mom. Or Sam. Or Scott. Hell, it’s not even his dad or Clint or anyone Bucky would’ve thought of.  
It’s Steve.  
“Bucky?” Steve says. He sounds hesitant even through the phone. “Are you there?”  
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters. He can’t do this. “I have to go.”  
“Wait,” Steve says. He sounds desperate. Bucky grits his teeth together so hard his jaw aches. He can’t talk to Steve. He can’t hang up on Steve. “Buck, we…we need to talk.”  
Bucky wants to throw his phone. He settles for stabbing his pencil in between the wire rings of his notebook.  
“About what?” He says. His voice comes off almost completely level. There’s only a hint of a waver.  
Steve sighs. There’s slightly crackling quiet for a few seconds. Bucky imagines Steve’s face, with what Bucky and Peggy call his “eyebrows of disappointment.” It makes him want to cry.  
“Just. Everything. We’re worried about you. Bucky, what’s going on?”  
Bucky screws his eyes shut tight. For a second, he thinks he feels a tooth shift as he grinds them together.  
“Steve,” Bucky says. He lets the waver take his voice over completely this time. “I can’t. I can’t tell you.”  
Steve makes a sharp sound. Like he’s surprised. Which is only fair, considering Bucky and Steve and Peggy tell each other everything. It’s very rare that one of them refuses to explain something.  
“Why don’t you spend time with us anymore?” Steve’s voice is small, wounded. It doesn’t sound right coming from him.  
“Please,” Bucky grits out with the last of his resolve. “Steve, I can’t talk to you about this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”  
Another crackling silence, heavy, suffocating.  
“Okay,” Steve finally says. He sounds like he’s suddenly gotten a bad head cold. Bucky’s heart sinks, because Steve might be crying, and what if he did that? How is Steve supposed to love him if he did that?  
“Okay,” Steve says again. “I guess, um, I won’t ask you about it anymore. You um, you come find me if you need to talk, I guess.”  
Bucky waits for anything else.  
“Buck?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Whatever this is? However we need to get through it? I’m with you til the end of the line.”  
Bucky bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. Steve isn’t finished.  
“If something I did made you upset, I’m sorry, Bucky. I guess. Um. I guess call me or text me or whatever if you change your mind. I won’t. I won’t bother you anymore.”  
Bucky forces out a hum to show Steve he’s listening. He makes his goodbye sound even.  
Steve hangs up.  
Bucky drops his phone and begins to cry.  
It feels like an ending. He wonders if Steve can touch the end of the line yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky begs off school on Tuesday, claiming to feel sick, but his mom presses a hand to his forehead, reminds him he has to work on his ability to lie, and sends him off.   
When he gets to school, Bucky can’t find Sam. He texts him, but Sam doesn’t answer. This can’t be happening. He needs Sam. Sam talked him down for almost an hour last night, worked through Bucky’s plan to skip school.   
Bucky can’t be here today. That group, the one that’s a band? What are they called, the Guardians of the Universe or something? They’re looking at him worriedly, and Bucky picks out Peter Quill, the one person he would maybe consider a sort-of friend, since he’s really not close with any of them, but Quill isn’t enough.   
In another corner, Tony Stark is telling some sort of story, animatedly, and Peter Parker is staring at him like this is the man that hung the moon and the stars or something.   
But no Sam.   
Clint and Natasha are sitting against the wall, and Bucky considers Clint, but he’s so worked up at this point he’s not even sure he can talk coherently anyway.   
What was it Scott said about anxiety attacks? And fuck, it’s not even seven thirty in the morning.    
He casts around another desperate look, but no Sam. He would even settle for Scott, but he’s nowhere to be seen either.   
Bucky can’t do this. He can’t deal with this today.   
Someone taps him on the shoulder. Bucky already knows it’s not Sam—that’s not Sam’s way of getting your attention—and he isn’t really prepared to deal with anyone else, but he turns around anyway.   
Only to come face to face with Peggy Carter wearing a worried expression.   
“Bucky,” she says, reaching out to grab his arm or touch his hand or _something_, and Bucky. Bucky can’t. He can’t do this.   
Before she can say anything else, before she can touch him, Bucky turns around, leaves through the first exit he sees, and half-runs all the way up through junior parking and out of the back entrance.   
His legs are shaking, but he makes it a good quarter-mile before they give out entirely and he collapses to his knees on the side of the road, clutching at his chest like a dying man.   
_Fuck_. FUCK. He just ran out of school. Without his parents’ permission. And there’s no way he can go back now. His heart might literally burst if he tries. But now what? Go to—go to Clint’s? Except his parents might still be home or might come home at any moment and then Bucky’s even more screwed. Go to Sam’s? No, same risk.   
Can’t go home, that’s a no-brainer. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Where?    
There’s a park not far from the high school, but that comes with little kids and other people. There’s the town library, but Bucky knows the librarian is close with teachers at the high school, so that’s not a great idea.   
Fuck, he’s so screwed. His phone is blowing up, texts from Sam, texts from Peggy, a text from Clint, missed calls from Peggy, a missed call from Sam. Bucky opens settings with shaking hands and turns off vibrate on silent. There. Now he won’t know his phone’s going off unless he looks at it.   
He shoves it into his back pocket to keep from anxiously turning it on and off to check his lock screen over and over again.   
Bucky collapses back onto his butt and tries to remember how to breathe. It’s difficult, and he has to focus in on the stupidest things to get his anxiety to calm, but he manages it enough that he can gasp in full breaths and his mind is just a little clearer.   
Rationally, he should call his mother and explain the situation, even if he has to make up a few things. She’s liable to freak out on him, though, and Bucky’s grip on clear thinking and unhindered breathing is tenuous enough already.    
What a fucking week, and it’s only Tuesday morning. Here Bucky is, sitting on the side of the road and trying not to panic, all because he can’t get over his dumb stupid crushes or be confident enough to out himself and get the heartbreak over with.   
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. He’s just going to check the time, he tells himself. That’s all. Nothing else.   
It’s seven forty-five. Everyone’s been in class for ten minutes by now. Bucky considers going back—he can sneak in through the gym entrance that’s almost always unlocked so gym classes can come back into the building, fake a pass, and go to class late—but that presents its own set of issues. If he gets caught, he’ll be in major trouble. If he doesn’t get caught, he has to deal with an entire school day while his anxiety is full throttle.   
He drops his phone and scrubs both hands over his face, through his hair. Things weren’t supposed to get this complicated. Things were supposed to go smoother than this. Steve and Peggy weren’t supposed to get together without him. Maybe that’s a selfish claim to make. But it has always, _always_ been the three of them. Was it too much to expect it to be the three of them in love, too?   
Bucky stands. He thinks he knows where he could go.   


* * *

  
It’s weird not to be in school. Bucky’s a junior, but he’s never skipped school or classes before. He couldn’t if he wanted to be allowed to come to cross country meets, and he never really wanted to skip anyway.   
He’s glad cross country hasn’t started yet, because if it had, he definitely would’ve had consequences there, too.   
He’s currently sitting in a little alcove at the park with benches and picnic tables. It’s up a narrow, hard-to-see path, so it’s unlikely anyone will bother him here.   
Anyone other than his friends. By now, he has eighty-four texts, spread between Sam, Scott, Peggy, even a few from Clint and Natasha. He keeps expecting Steve’s name to pop up, too, but it never does. Steve really wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t bother Bucky anymore, and it hurts. More than it should, considering Bucky brought that upon himself, but Steve usually doesn’t give up to the point he pisses people off. It’s out of character for Steve to actually give Bucky space when he needs it, to not continue sending him encouraging messages and offers to talk and reminders that he’s here for him.    
Guilt curdles in Bucky’s stomach. Steve has to be hurt, too, in order to just give in like this.    
Bucky’s watching names pop up when his lock screen gives way to someone calling him. His mother.   
Bucky answers, because if he doesn’t, he knows there will be even more hell to pay later.   
“James Buchanan Barnes,” his mother starts, and boy, does she sound mad. “Why in hell are you not at school?”   
“Mom—“   
“I don’t want to hear it!”    
Bucky wants to ask why she even called, then, if she doesn’t actually want an explanation, but he won’t fan the flames.   
“I just got a call from the attendance office, because you’ve missed both first and second period and you were never called in sick. I watched you get on the bus and everything, James! What is going on?”   
“I couldn’t—Mom, I couldn’t do it.”   
There’s a pause. “Well why not?” His mother gets very demanding when she’s mad, Bucky thinks.   
He tells her it’s a long story, and she says she has time, and Bucky has no choice but to give in and explain before she gets so mad she manages to reach through the phone and slap him. Not that she would ever, ever lay a hand on him, but she definitely sounds mad enough this time for it to be a possibility.   
It takes him around twenty minutes, a little more, to fully explain the entirety of the situation.   
The silence afterward is icy. For a minute, Bucky is worried he’s only made the situation worse; that he’s already panicky, and what if his mother doesn’t accept this, doesn’t accept *him,* and he’s just short of another full-blown anxiety attack when there’s finally noise on the other line.   
“Oh, Jamie,” his mother says. “Sweetheart.”   
Bucky bites his lip. Gnaws at it a little. He watches an ant zigzag across the tabletop.   
His mom sighs. “Why don’t you come home? I’ll call you out for the rest of the day. We still need to talk about consequences, don’t think for one second you’re off the hook for cutting class, but it’s—it’s okay. Mental health is important too. Why didn’t you say something this morning?”   
Bucky’s throat gets all gummy, suddenly. The lump hurts to swallow around. “Mom, I couldn’t—I was scared.” He wants to say more, but his throat tightens up even more of its own accord. His eyes fill with tears.   
“Jamie,” his mother says. Her voice is soothing. “Sweetheart. Bucky, I accept you.”   
The dam breaks, and Bucky begins to cry. His mother repeats it. There’s a steady litany of “I accept you” in his ear as he shields his face with his hand.   
“Where are you?” His mother says. “I can come pick you up.”   
“The park,” Bucky says. “The one right near the high school.”   
“Okay. We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to help you with this.”   
Bucky thinks maybe his mom is a superhero too.   


* * *

  
They come to a solution with the help of Bucky’s dad and the calming presence of their fat, lazy cat, Winter. Cut Bucky some slack. He was eight. It was almost Christmas. The kitten was all white. His parents wouldn’t let him name her ‘Snowball.’ Bucky still thinks it would’ve been a cute cat name.   
Bucky’s grounded for a week. He’s to come straight home from school unless he’s staying after to make up the work he missed. He is to formally apologize to the two teachers whose classes he missed. No phone for the week, either.   
All things considered, it’s not really that severe of a punishment. Bucky knows that it would have been a lot worse had he not come clean.   
The hardest part of the whole night is having to come clean to his dad, too. His mother’s upstairs, folding laundry. Bucky’s a little annoyed he doesn’t have her as a buffer, if only because at least she already knows. Coming out is just so _scary_.   
Winter is stretched across his legs, heavy, dead weight. She really is fat. Sometimes his dad tries to pass it off as Winter just being fluffy, but fluff doesn’t make you almost get stuck in the cat door. Bucky keeps waiting for the day where she won’t even fit.   
“Soldier,” his dad says when Bucky finishes talking. It’s a nickname his dad got from only who knows where. “You are an unbelievably good person. Steve and Peggy are stupid not to be in love with you.”   
Bucky laughs. It’s half-choked by relieved tears.   
For the first time this week, he goes to bed feeling relatively content.   


* * *

* * *

  
There’s a rhythm in place after that. Bucky spends his lunchtime with Sam when they share a lunch wave and with Scott when they don’t. He meets Sam in the mornings at the front of the school, away from where Steve and Peggy hang out by the auditorium. Scott walks him to certain classes, Sam to others, and he even finds himself walking with Bruce or Clint sometimes.   
It’s also easier now that his parents know. They ask how the day went, pay special attention to any red flags that Bucky’s just not okay to go to school anxiety-wise. He misses only two days of school because of it and manages pretty okay the rest of the time.   
Sam convinces him to see his guidance counselor. Bucky ends up talking about plans for the future more than he ends up talking about relationship woes, but it is admittedly kinda nice to have another adult he can go to who didn’t have a hand in making him exist.   
Sam has Bucky over a _lot_. Bucky would be lying if he said he doesn’t love it. Of course he loves it.    
He even ends up going over Scott’s house. Scott is flustered most of the time, and Bucky gets the sense that Scott might be a little ashamed of how little he has, but Bucky doesn’t care, and he reassures Scott of the same thing, out loud.   
They end up fucking around in the garage, tinkering with metal bits and wires and all sorts of shit. It’s nice. Scott has a big hulking wolfhound kind of dog that lays down across Bucky’s feet.   
Bucky thinks sometimes it’s a little ridiculous that he needs so much support over something so stupid as a crush, but Sam reminds him that he’s essentially cut himself off from his two closest best friends, and that it’s okay to need help.   
Things are okay. Really. Bucky isn’t just saying it, either. He really feels a little better.   
Sometimes he sees Steve and Peggy in the hallways. It’s unavoidable, and it makes his heart clench each and every time, but it’s not debilitating. He’s not alone. He has other people he can turn to.   
Things are okay until Bucky thinks back on his phone call with Steve.   
“I’m going to talk to him,” he tells Sam. They’re eating lunch in the courtyard, sprawled out on the grass to the side of it. They’re away from the other kids, which makes Bucky okay with talking about this.   
“Who?” Sam says. He seems unfazed. After three years, you do get pretty used to your friends’ shenanigans. “Scott?”   
Bucky rolls his eyes. “No. And I don’t need to tell you I’m gonna talk to Scott. Or anybody really.”   
Sam snorts. “Damn straight. Who you talking about? Steve? Or is there a mystery man in your life? A hot neighbor I don’t know about? Ooh, is it someone scandalous like the mailman?”   
Bucky rolls his eyes, laughing. He uproots a clump of grass and tosses it toward Sam’s face, which only makes the both of them laugh harder.   
“The dog walker, actually,” Bucky says, and Sam nods, looking serious.   
“Got it. Always knew you were a closet furry.”   
Bucky practically howls with laughter, and this time he tackles Sam. They wrestle around in the grass for a few minutes until a teacher tells them to knock it off.   
“I am _not_ a furry,” Bucky says, trying in vain to comb through his now-tangled hair with his fingers. “For your information, yes, I’m going to talk to Steve.”   
“K,” Sam says, laying back against his backpack. “But what are you gonna talk to him about?”   
Bucky shrugs. His good mood deflates, just a little, but not enough that it won’t be able to be saved later. “Just. Why I haven’t been talking to him.”   
“You mean why you’ve been avoiding him like the plague?”   
He’s sure his face looks stricken, because Sam flinches back a little with what Bucky perceives as guilt.   
“Sorry, it’s just that everyone’s been noticing it. There has to be a resolution to this eventually, Bucky. Even if it’s just closure.”   
And boy, if that isn’t a reality check knocking Bucky flat onto his ass.    
“I know,” he mutters.    
The bell rings then, of course, and Bucky has no choice but to go to class. Sam has to go to the opposite end of the school, and he leaves Bucky with a hearty pat to the shoulder.   
When he’s by himself, Bucky looks at the floor while he walks more than he looks up. It’s something he’s always done, but it makes him look super broody.   
It’s what he figures is the cause for Scott to call his name, completely change directions in the hallway, and drag him over to an alcove.   
“Hey,” he says. His voice is so goddamn casual, but the look on his face…like he’s treating Bucky with kid gloves. There’s a spike of irritation.   
Bucky dips his chin. Scott frowns, like he knows there’s something wrong. He puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and then pulls him in for a hug, and Bucky would be lying if it doesn’t feel nice.   
Scott Lang hugs are good. He hugs tight and wraps himself around you so fully it screams comfort, screams love. A Scott Lang hug is just what Bucky needs right now, it turns out.   
He’ll talk to Steve tomorrow, or the day after that. Maybe he won’t talk to him until Steve approaches him again, but his brain blares the neon sign that says ‘COWARD’ and Bucky knows he has to do it.   
So he does.   


* * *

  
It’s during lunch two days after his conversation with Sam that Bucky runs into Steve in the hallway.  
He doesn’t ignore him, though. He’s shaking, so he crosses his arms as he approaches Steve and says, “can I talk to you?” and if there’s a waver to his voice, neither of them mentions it.  
Steve nods, something sad and hurt in his face that makes Bucky’s gut quiver, and they walk to the stairwell near the cafeteria. Steve leans back against the wall and crosses his arms, jaw set. His face is neutral, and that’s probably what hurts the most after years of Steve giving Bucky almost nothing but smiles.  
“What’s up?” Steve says.  
Bucky opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Everything’s stuck behind the lump in his throat, so he swallows and swallows until the ache recedes a little and he can blink without the risk of tears falling.  
He says the first ‘I’m sorry’ so quietly Steve can’t hear it.  
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and this time Steve hears him. His face goes cold.  
“Maybe Peggy should be here for this conversation too,” Steve says. There’s a petulant lull to his tone. “Since you’ve been ignoring her too.”  
“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeats. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”  
“You really hurt us, Bucky,” Steve says. “Especially when you’re avoiding us and you won’t tell us why or what we did.”  
“You didn’t do anything,” Bucky says. “It’s me.”  
Steve scrubs a hand over his face, runs it through his hair, then crosses his arms again. “So it’s not us, but you won’t tell us what’s wrong?” His voice is skeptical.  
Bucky can’t swallow back the tears this time.  
“I can’t, Steve,” he says.   
Steve…visibly recoils. And then he looks like he’s getting mad.  
“I love you, Bucky,” he says, and damn if that isn’t a knife twisting in Bucky’s chest, “but why would you ask to talk to me if you weren’t even going to tell me anything? That’s just, I don’t even know. Are you playing with us? Is that what this is?”  
“Please don’t yell at me.”  
Steve audibly grinds his teeth together. “I’m trying not to, but God, Buck, this is just so frustrating! One day everything’s fine and the next you’re not talking to us and you won’t hang out with us and you won’t say why!”  
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “Please don’t be mad at me, Stevie.”  
“No, you know what? I am mad at you, Bucky. I don’t want to be. But you hurt me. You hurt Peg. And I’m trying to understand where you could be coming from, really, I am, but it’s so fucking hard not to just be mad.”  
Steve is crying. Steve Rogers is really, honestly crying. Bucky is crying now, too, and they’ll both be screwed if the bell rings right now. But this moment is so contained between the two of them it’s like it doesn’t really matter.  
“We miss you, Bucky,” Steve says, and it’s through his teeth like he’s a wounded animal.  
“I miss you too,” Bucky says, and there’s a pulsing, throbbing ache to just hug Steve, to kiss him, to do _something_ that’ll fix this. But there is no quick fix.

Bucky should’ve come clean weeks ago. Months ago. He should’ve come clean the second he even considered ignoring or avoiding either of them.   
The self-hatred rushes up so strongly Bucky doesn’t even have time to think.   
“You think I’m not mad at myself? I hate myself for doing this to you.”   
“So stop,” Steve says. “Talk to us.”   
“That won’t fix it,” Bucky says. “I think it’ll just make it worse.”   
Steve makes an anguished sound and lets his head thunk back against the wall. He drags a hand down his face before he looks at Bucky again.   
“Then maybe we shouldn’t be talking right now. Maybe we shouldn’t talk again until you figure out what it is that you’re trying to do.”   
“No!”   
Bucky reaches for him, but Steve is already too far gone.   
It feels like a real loss this time. Bucky can’t handle it.    
  
In the hallway back to the cafeteria, he almost bowls over poor Peter Parker, who faces him with a big grin, already waving away Bucky’s muttered apology.   
He’s never seen a smile slide off of someone’s face that fast in his life.    
“Are you okay?” Peter says. It’s clearly a rhetorical question. “I, uh, I can get Tony. You know Tony, right? He’s a genius, he could probably help you out with whatever this is. Not to, like, be rude or anything. Just, are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?”   
Bucky shakes his head, not to say no but to clear it a little. Who he really wants is Sam, but he’s in the middle of algebra. “Do you know Scott Lang?”   
Peter nods so fast his hair flies with the motion.   
“Can you get him for me?”   
“Yeah, of course,” Peter says. “I’ll be right back.”   
Bucky nods, drops his face into his hands. It seems like it takes only seconds for Scott and Peter to be back in front of him. Scott’s hands are on his shoulders and Bucky’s so emotionally exhausted he just drops his head onto his shoulder and leans into Scott’s warmth.   
Vaguely he hears Scott and Peter talking and then Peter walking away.   
Scott tries to pull away, but that means talking, something that Bucky just isn’t handling right now, so he just holds on tighter.   
“Jesus,” Scott says. “Bucky, what the fuck happened?”   
“Got into a fight,” Bucky says and immediately Scott tenses up.   
“What?” He says, voice laced with alarm. “Bucky, look at me.”   
Bucky begrudgingly picks his head up, sniffing and blinking against the sudden cold air that hits his overheated skin.   
“Thank God,” Scott says, and visibly relaxes once he sees that Bucky isn’t hurt. “Who’d you get into a fight with?”   
“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky says.    
Scott pulls him in for another brief hug, then draws back and looks at his phone. “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”   
Bucky almost smiles. Almost.   


* * *

  
After about another week of the trio avoiding each other, everyone in the friend group has apparently had more than enough. It’s not something Bucky realizes until later, until after everything is done and over with, but it has to be the catalyst for what’s coming next.   
All he knows is he gets a text from Clint asking him to come over. Bucky may not be so close with Clint, but the Barton household is the one that’s always open 24/7 to whoever needs it. He’s been on their couch before. It’s a rite of passage.

Bucky doesn’t even brush his hair. Barely gets dressed. He looks like a total bum but can’t bring himself to care all that much.   
He’s the first one there, although as far as he knows, he’s the only one going.   
Clint greets him and offers him soda, which Bucky accepts, and they chat idly for a little while until the doorbell rings.   
It’s Sam. And that’s when Bucky realizes something fishy’s going on, because Sam and Clint generally don’t hang out with each other.   
He’s just about to ask what the fuck is going on when the door swings open *again* and it feels like the floor drops out from underneath his feet. He has to grab onto the counter to keep his balance, because there they are, Steve and Peggy, and there’s no way out.   
Bucky makes to go for the bathroom, but Sam catches him by the shirt and drags him back with an “oh, no you don’t.”   
“Alright, everyone sit,” Clint says, and Steve and Peggy take the couch. They aren’t wrapped up in each other, either, just sitting up ramrod straight and fidgeting.   
Sam pointedly guides Bucky to one of the living room chairs, while he and Clint stand at the front of the room with their arms crossed like they’re principals scolding a group of troublemakers.   
“Alright,” Sam says. “So we all know there’s something going on with the three of you, and we all can’t stand to watch you guys mope around and continue to hurt each other the longer you’re separated.”   
Before any of the three of them can argue, Clint clears his throat. “We’re not here to blame anybody. This isn’t a forced reconciliation. This is somewhat of an intervention, though, so pay attention.”   
“Bucky,” Sam says, leaning forward. “I know you don’t want me to do this, so it’s your last chance to come clean yourself.”   
Bucky shakes his head, struck dumb. There’s no way he can do this right now.   
Sam turns to Clint.    
“Alright,” Clint says. “Everyone listen up. Steve and Peggy, you like each other.”   
Steve and Peggy nod. Bucky wants to run. Desperately wants to run.   
“But,” Clint continues, “You also both like Bucky, correct?”   
Steve and Peggy nod again. Bucky sighs and gets up. He can’t stay here anymore. He can’t watch couples counsel—Wait. He freezes.   
“Wait, what?”   
Steve blushes, but there’s something melancholy in his expression. He pulls two objects out of his pocket. Before he can say anything, though, Sam shoots Bucky a knowing look and opens his mouth.   
“And Bucky, you like Peggy and Steve, correct?”   
Well, now he just feels cornered. He stutters out something resembling a yes.   
Steve and Peggy both look…well, surprised. Surprised, but not disgusted or disappointed or pitying like Bucky had spent the past God-knows-how-long imagining.   
They look…happy?   
And then Steve is in front of Bucky, asking him if this was the problem, and Bucky nods and their apologies overlap and Bucky’s so damn relieved he feels sort of like crying and then Steve is hugging him tight and _God_ has he missed this.   
Peggy joins the hug and then Clint and Sam duck out to go have lunch or something, the other three aren’t paying attention.   
“I, um,” Steve starts, opening his palm to display two ring pops still sealed in their wrappers. “I wanted to give these to my girlfriend and my boyfriend. We were planning on asking you, Buck, but then everything just got out of control.”   
For a second, Bucky’s heart drops and his face falls, because he’s not processing the second sentence and who’s the other guy?   
But Peggy and Steve are looking at him expectantly. And then his brain catches up.

“Oh,” Bucky says. “_Oh_. I’m the—am I the boyfriend?”   
Peggy and Steve both laugh. Steve makes a big production of opening the ring pops and sliding them onto Bucky’s and Peggy’s fingers.   
They have a long, honest, heart-and-mind cleansing conversation, all come clean and forgive each other and resolve to move on. They laugh at themselves for being dumb teenagers.   
Steve texts Clint and asks if they can have some of the ice cream in the freezer, and Clint tells him they can eat an entire pint if they feel like it, so Steve pulls out the mint chocolate chip and three spoons and they sit on the floor, their backs up against the couch, and share the ice cream.   
Bucky sits in the middle. At some point, Peggy dots his nose with ice cream using her spoon, and Steve gives a big, barking laugh.   
Then he’s suddenly in front of Bucky, and his hand is on Bucky’s cheek, and he’s kissing Bucky like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s no big deal and easy as pie.   
It’s a good kiss. And Bucky has barely caught his breath before Peggy’s laughing and gently turning his head toward her with a hand in his hair, and then she’s kissing Bucky like nothing else matters, with the ease of not needing time for anything else.   
Sam and Clint return to three completely overjoyed teenagers who’ve pronounced themselves “datemates” and are just a little sugar high.   


* * *

* * *

  
They make it official the next big gathering they have, a party seemingly for the sake of having a party at Tony’s. And everyone’s there, which is an opportunity they know they won’t come across at school.   
Steve and Peggy let Bucky announce it.   
The varying reactions are the standard ‘congratulations’, ‘I knew it’, and a confused ‘you mean you guys weren’t already dating’ from Thor.   
Drax, one of the members of the Galaxy band Bucky can never remember the name of, is so excited that he grabs Steve, then Bucky, and then Peggy for a massive group hug. Bucky just knows Natasha probably has a picture of it somewhere.   
And if Tony insists on calling them ‘lovebirds’ and ‘grossly inappropriate for looking so in love in front of my burger’? Everyone laughs.   
It’s good. It’s really good. And it doesn’t come without ups and downs; the beginning is a little rocky, seen as none of them have ever been in a polyamorous relationship before, but Bucky wouldn’t trade it for anything.   


* * *

* * *

  
When school gets out on Friday, Bucky is ridiculously excited. Sam playfully shoves him toward Steve as they leave the classroom, because all Bucky’s been talking about all day is this trip and Sam cannot handle his rambling for another second.   
The three of them pile into Steve’s car and roll all the windows down, wearing dollar-store sunglasses Peggy bought for them simply because they were there and screaming along to the songs they like on the radio. At one point, in the middle of an empty stretch of highway, Peggy stands up and stretches up through the sunroof, screaming like she’s on a rollercoaster. Bucky leans as far as he can out of the window to try to take a picture, and Steve takes his hands off the wheel for just a second, just to prove he can do it.   
They change in the car so they don’t have to worry about it later, and Bucky finds himself mesmerized. He thinks Steve may be similarly enraptured based on the way he just kind of stares at Bucky’s body until Peggy yells to pay attention to driving.   
The best thing about a state beach at three in the afternoon on a Friday in October is that there’s no one really there.   
They have it all to themselves and take it to their full advantage, sprawling their stuff as far as they see fit across the sand. As soon as they know nothing will blow away, Steve picks Bucky up and runs into the water with him, Peggy catcalling from the shore.   
Steve drops Bucky right into the cold surf, and they mock-wrestle a bit in the waves until they reach a stalemate, and then Steve crawls into Bucky’s lap and they kiss, and it’s sloppy and giggly and more a conjoined smile than an actual kiss. They both taste like saltwater and Bucky laughs as a wave catches Steve directly in the face.   
Then Peggy is there and she’s jumping onto Steve’s back, and when Bucky stands up she wraps her legs more securely around Steve’s waist and then leans down to kiss Bucky. He knows he has red lipstick all over his face now, but so does she and it somehow still looks attractive.   
Steve teases her about looking dolled-up and then he and Bucky splash her together, and they stay in the water horsing around and kissing each other and just laying quietly in the surf until their lips are blue and they’re shivering, and then they head to shore and drag all the pieces of driftwood they can possibly find into a kind of fort.   
They lay together on their beach blanket and throw Doritos at each other’s faces, and then Peggy reveals that she’s brought some of her mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies, and the next kisses they share for hours afterward taste of chocolate and seawater.   
They are so, so in love it’s almost painful. Bucky thinks that must not be a bad thing as they lay on Steve’s bed, all showered off and wet-haired after the beach, and Bucky lays with his arm still, and Peggy and Steve paint his prosthetic to their hearts’ content.   


* * *

The best is their homecoming picture. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen three people look so happy in a photograph.   
It stays up over their dresser for years, even after the wedding and all the other pictures they’ve had. Bucky keeps the ones from the beach and the ones from Tony’s party in an album he looks at frequently.   
Not today, though. If you’ll excuse him, it’s pouring outside and both his loves are laying rather seductively on the bed.   
And he knows why they want him.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
